


don't you see the starlight, starlight (don't you dream impossible things?)

by iliveinfantasies



Series: The Worst Witch 2018 Winter Fluff Event [6]
Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017), The Worst Witch - All Media Types
Genre: Day 6, F/F, Gen, Gifts, Hicsqueak, Other, ww2018winterfluffevent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 07:46:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16909005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iliveinfantasies/pseuds/iliveinfantasies
Summary: It was a galaxy, tiny and moving, shrunk down to the size of a jam jar. Constellations forming and re-forming, literal pinpricks of stars, planets the size of nailheads. All floating, hovering, moving around the swirling sky.Pippa stared at it, a little incredulously, a little uncertain.It was beautiful; it was a true masterpiece of magic, something that Pippa wasn’t entirely sure that even she could have pulled off. Hecate’s magic was all over it, strong and light and ripping, and Pippa could feel it weeping into her skin the longer she held the creation.But there was something more to it, she was certain, that she wasn’t seeing. Something in it that meant something profound to Hecate, based on the way anxiety was hanging off of her like shadows.---Day 6: giftsPairing: Hicsqueak





	don't you see the starlight, starlight (don't you dream impossible things?)

**Author's Note:**

> Right, so, this was supposed to be done yesterday. It wasn't, because somehow this story got longer than I meant it to be, and it took on a life all it's own.
> 
> I think it's my favorite, so far.
> 
> It's not really that fluffy, like usual. It's more melancholy. But it DOES have a happy ending, and that's what matters, right? I’m trying to make fluff, I really am.
> 
> Apparently I have a LOT OF FEELINGS about them younger, and a lot of headcanons.
> 
> I hope y'all like it! And hopefully I'll catch up, eventually.
> 
> Come visit me on Tumblr at iliveinfantasylife!

As a girl, Pippa learned everything there was to know about the stars.

Each over-bright planet, each swirling nebula and clustered constellation; every single one of the pinpricks of light that splintered the sky outside of Hecate’s window at Amulet’s.

Pippa hadn’t always been interested in the stars, or the sky. She hadn’t actually intended to learn as much as she had, being honest.

But Hecate never slept, really. “It’s a waste of time,” she’d hiss, irritation coating her lips, as though frustrated with her body for existing in such a way that it dared need sleep.

“Think of all the things we could be _doing,_ Pipsqueak,” she’d say, hands already pressed into a book. Her eyes would glide hungrily, cautiously, over the pages, spreading her gaze wide and soft, as though worried that they might actually tear if she read the words too fast. She’d lift her eyes to Pippa’s, wild and bright, and murmur, “think of what one could _do_ , Pip, if they didn’t have to sleep.” 

And Pippa would roll her eyes, and tuck a piece of Hecate’s long hair behind her ear, and let Hecate know that she _liked_ sleep, thank you very much, and that there was plenty of time to learn everything she’d want to learn in the daylight.

But Hecate would already be gone, by then; eyes wide and golden, sparks of words and facts and numbers absorbing straight into her soul. Flecks of knowledge glittered in them like glass, broken and dangerous, after these nights; and sometimes in the mornings, Pippa could swear she saw them when Hecate spoke, pressing the flecks like magic into the air with her words.

And Pippa loved her for it.

So Pippa would tuck herself into Hecate’s window seat, chin resting on her hands, elbows digging roughly into the cold, leaded glass of the windowpane. She’d stare out over the sky, no particular interest in the stars, and watch the evening lapse.

No interest, that is, until she stared at them almost every evening.

Until she got used to the patterns, the glittering vastness of it.

The odd constellations and distant moons, the bold _emptiness_ of it. The way everything moved, just slightly, as she watched.

Until she stole a piece of parchment from Hecate’s desk, pressing the soft lead deep into the paper, scraping it, carefully, across the surface. She’d map for hours, folding and unfolding the same parchment, every night, adding and smudging and erasing and redrawing, line after line after dot and finally, names; sketching the world of their evenings, of their long, drawn out nights, while Hecate absorbed knowledge through her skin.

Cygnus and Aquarius, Cassiopeia and Aries; carefully crafted constellations on paper, the Orion Nebula birthing new stars, the parchment, now enchanted, pulling itself outward at the corners.

Because Pippa didn’t want to know everything about everything, like Hecate did. She was clever, and did well in school because she worked hard at it, but she couldn’t consume knowledge in the same way, didn’t really want to. Hecate bit off large chunks of learning and swallowed them whole, and Pippa loved her for it, deeply and fiercely. But for Pippa, it wasn’t anything like that--for Pippa, it was instead, quite suddenly, an intimate knowledge of the stars.

Right up until the day that Hecate left.

Then, the stars lost their sheen. Everything outside of Pippa’s window grew dull, and lifeless, and the view from her room looked warped and strange, everything from all the wrong angles.The parchment she’d used had been stuck in Hecate’s room—a place she avoided, now, and refused to go; a place she was absolutely certain, though it was technically, cleared out, was full of memories hanging in the corners like cobwebs. A place that was full of nothing but the shadows of an ex-life.

A place vast, and empty, like the night sky.

Like Pippa, herself, now.

* * *

 

Hecate had felt Pippa’s loss fiercely, and all at once.

Pippa had been a solid, grounding presence in Hecate’s life ever since the day she’d first found Hecate shoved into a half-visible closet. Pippa extended a pink-sleeved hand to her, and exclaimed, “Hello! Hecate, yes?” before yanking her up and grinning widely. “We’re going to be _friends_ ,” she breathed reverently to the hallway cobblestones, and it sat on Hecate’s skin like a spell; like everything straight down to her bones knew, _knew_ , that _yes,_ they were going to be friends.

The kind of friends who felt widely and with tugging hearts, friends who never left each other alone, even when Pippa was pulled away by the other girls, even when Hecate fell into a heavy, expansive sadness. They were there, always, one way or another.

The kind of friends who gave to each other in excess; a scarf from Pippa when Hecate forgot her own. A small onyx bracelet, from Pippa, for Hecate’s birthday--the first real gift she’d ever gotten, other than the highly practical bottles and books and hats from her father.

The whole of her heart, from Hecate.

A deep, longing sense of want and need and absolute love, from Hecate.

The kind of love that made her afraid and burn around the edges.

At night, Hecate felt like she was an electric, buzzing energy; like there were parts of her that couldn’t be contained, like there were pieces of her mind that needed to _grow_ , to _learn_ , to _get out._ A need that couldn’t be sated with sleep.

It was the best time--when the world was far too dark and far too quiet, when everything had fallen silent and still, and candles burned vaguely in windows, wax dripping onto Hecate’s fingers as she pulled it closer to her chest.

And Pippa would stay, every time.

Pippa, who was the brightest of all. Pippa, who shifted and moved and chattered and filled the entire room with vibrant light. Pippa, who pressed herself into the windowsill, every evening, staring at the stars.

And Hecate loved her for it.

Loved her with a fierceness so vast and deep and shining it rivaled the night sky.

And when the realization hit, cold and wanting, Hecate realized she had to go.

She knew the way the girls talked about her. Knew the way people shot her looks when they thought that she wasn’t looking; the words they whispered about her in the hallways.

 _Prickly,_ they’d say. _Stuck up,_ they’d say. _Too odd, too dark, too sharp._

 _Not good enough,_ they’d say.

 _Why does Pippa hang out with her?_ They’d say.

 _It’s just pity,_ they’d say.

And Hecate knew, knew that they were right.

Knew that if she let slip just how much she needed Pippa--loved Pippa, wanted Pippa--Pippa would be gone.

Knew that she was holding Pippa back.

And so she packed her things, at the request of one Miss Hecketty Broomhead, who was looking for _a strong witch, powerful, though undisciplined._

And she left, quickly, without a word.

Pippa being there at night had felt like a comforting weight in her chest, grounding her, holding her close to herself.

So when she left, the lack of it left her floating, tumbling into nothing, with no place to land.

* * *

 

 _It’s reckless_ , Hecate told herself, now. _It’s idiotic_.

 _It’s a terrible idea, and overly-sentimental, and if Pippa remembers this-_ -

If Pippa remembered, Hecate knew she’d be giving herself away.

If Pippa didn’t remember, she’d look foolish, and odd, and truly atrocious in her ability to choose gifts for Yuletide.

She almost wondered if she wouldn’t prefer the latter.

But she was here, now, standing in the wide entryway of Pentangles, clutching the paper-wrapped package in her hand. Her dress felt over-tight, leather belt seized with the cold, and ice cascading in small clumps down her dampened cloak. Her hair was tucked just a little too loosely, windblown and a little wild, small wispy strands of it falling down past her cheeks.

“Hiccup!” Pippa exclaimed, running up to Hecate, and giving her a brief hug before pulling back, wrinkling her nose. “You’re freezing,” Pippa said, mildly, and Hecate raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, Pippa, I just rode a broomstick in the snow.” But she smiled, a little, and Pippa rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

She saw Pippa’s eyes flick down to the package, and Hecate’s stomach gave a wild jolt.

There was no pretending, now. No acting like the package she was holding was anything but what it was--a gift, for Pippa, at Yuletide. She thrust the package at Pippa, suddenly, before she lost her nerve.

Pippa raised an eyebrow and took it, giving Hecate a warm half-smile. “Thank you, Hiccup,” she said, lightly, before taking the package delicately from Hecate’s hands, and placing the other hand on Hecate’s arm.

“Come on,” she said, guiding them both down the hallway. “Let’s get you warmed up.”

* * *

 

The package was heavy in Pippa’s hand, and curiosity sparked behind her eyes. When they reached Pippa’s rooms, Pippa lit a fire, and cast a quick drying spell over Hecate’s clothes. Now, she slid a careful fingernail under the adhesive holding it together, peeling the parchment back, until she was holding a rather plain box.

She quirked a smile, her heart thumping rather oddly--it was just a gift, after all--and pulled open the lid.

Inside was an old parchment, somewhat wrinkled and yellow with age, creased at a number of odd angles, and smelling faintly of jasmine--like Hecate, herself. A very light tingle of magic was emanating from it, and Pippa could sense the older magic (very light and uneven, as though cast by a student) entangled with Hecate’s renewal of the spell.

Next to it was a glass bottle. A potions bottle, if she wasn’t mistaken, tiny specks of light moving within it. Pippa frowned, just a little, and picked up the bottle, peering inside. She let out a breathy gasp.

It was a galaxy, tiny and moving, shrunk down to the size of a jam jar. Constellations forming and re-forming, literal pinpricks of stars, planets the size of nailheads. All floating, hovering, _moving_ around the swirling sky.

Pippa stared at it, a little incredulously, a little uncertain.

It was _beautiful_ ; it was a true masterpiece of magic, something that Pippa wasn’t entirely sure that even she could have pulled off. Hecate’s magic was all over it, strong and light and rippling, and Pippa could feel it seeping into her skin the longer she held the creation.

But there was something more to it, she was certain, that she wasn’t seeing. Something in it that meant something profound to Hecate, based on the way anxiety was hanging off of her like shadows.

She glanced up at Hecate, but Hecate wasn’t looking at her. Instead, her eyes were fixed on the parchment still sitting in the box. After a long moment, Pippa reached in and pulled out the parchment, a little trepidatiously.

Something about the parchment felt familiar; something about the way it wore in her fingers, something about the lines she could see through the back, crossing like veins under skin.

She pulled the parchment open carefully, its edges just a little yellowed. The first flash of recognition hit with a heavy jolt the second Pippa saw the word “Cassiopeia” scrawled, in a childish, loopy writing, across the page. Her fingers trembled as she pulled the rest of the paper open, her breath catching, her heart beginning to burn a little in her chest.

Pippa traced her fingers lightly over the pencil markings on the star chart, memories flickering across her eyes like film reels. _Night after night, star after star, hot breaths and heartbeats against windowpanes while Hecate’s hair flashes in the candlelight--_

Pippa drew in a shallow, shuddering breath.

Her eyes flicked back over to the star jar. _That meant…_

Pippa pulled it closer to her face, glancing first at the chart, then at the jar, then back.

Aquarius, right there, right where it should be, suspended in the tiny flittering sky.

Not just any sky, but _their_ sky. The same sky that had been there out the window every night for _years._ Changing, yes, and moving, but that exact sky, from those exact years, at that exact time.

Thirty years was a lifetime, it seemed.

“I…” Pippa began, voice quavering, choking a little. “I didn’t know that you’d--that you’d _noticed,_ I--” she murmured, a little helplessly. “I thought...” 

She gestured vaguely at the chart, and Hecate shook her head, slowly, lips pressed tightly together.

“ _Pippa,_ ” she said, voice breathy and hoarse and dry, like sand sliding over glass. “It was _you_. Of course I noticed.”

Pippa’s heart jolted, roughly, her throat catching, hearing the words unspoken between them in the air. Looked up into Hecate’s eyes, and sucked in a breath at what she found there. The anxieties, the fears; thirty years of wanting and waiting, tucking away and around and inside and shoving down as far as it would go.

_It was you. Of course I noticed._

_It was you, and I love you._

_It was you, and I love you._

_“Oh,”_ Pippa whispered again, and placed the jar and the parchment carefully down on the table, as though it might break.

As though she might break.

She crossed the space between them in one fast step. Pressed her forehead to Hecate’s, watched as Hecate’s eyes widened, as she shivered, just slightly, at Pippa’s touch.

Gathered every bit of herself, every year of longing and heartache, scraping the sides of her heart and releasing it through her skin.

“ _Yes, Hecate,_ ” she murmured, breathed soft and sweet into Hecate’s lips. “ _Yes, I love you, too.”_

_Yes, I’ve always loved you._

And when she pressed her lips carefully to Hecate’s, Hecate pressed back, in earnest.

Pippa stood there, Hecate’s lips against her own, heart beating wild and erratic. Her entire chest, her heart, the light behind her eyes--cresting, bursting, with stars.


End file.
